


Lighter

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the way Cas smells, the way he looks when he trudges out of his room in the morning, the way he drinks his coffee like water, the way he smiles at Sam and the way he pressed his palms all over Dean’s back three days ago and kissed his shoulder and left Dean aching in a completely different way than he began with.  It’s the way Dean’s too much of a chickenshit to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lighter

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it? Enjoy this!

At first, Dean brushes it off as the fair result of a rough hunt. He ain’t exactly 22 anymore, after all, so a few lingering aches should be expected. It’s part and parcel of getting older.

Dean could sulk about it, but he chooses to be mature, to age gracefully. He downs a few painkillers and says nothing about the pain in his back.

But it gets worse. 

One day, Dean wakes up and is so sore can barely lift himself out of bed. He doesn’t understand it; it’s been quiet hunt-wise for about a week. All he’s been doing is puttering around the bunker, cleaning up after Sam and cooking for Cas. 

He tries to hide the stiffness of his muscles as he prepares breakfast. As usual, he’s the first one up. Sam doesn’t notice anything when he comes in - just bids Dean a good morning and grabs a bottle of water before going for a jog.

Cas, however, is more observant. He pauses at the doorway and narrows his eyes. “You’re hurting,” is all he says. Those two words alone make Dean even more aware of the tightness in his back.

Dean makes a noise that clearly says, “Leave it alone,” but Cas soldiers on.

“You need to go to a doctor.”

Dean places a plate of eggs on the table and ignores Cas’s remark. “Sit,” he says. “Eat your goddamn eggs.”

 

Of course Cas tells Sam. The kid drops by Dean’s room later that day, all limber and spry, and if Dean weren’t hurting so bad he’d throw something at his brother. “What?” Dean demands, lying still on his bed.

Sam eyes the bottle of painkillers on Dean’s bedside table. “You can take as many of those as you want, Dean, but until you figure out what’s causing the tension, it might never go away.”

“I’m not going to a doctor, Sam.”

Sam sighs. “I thought you’d say that. At least think about it, okay? And for goodness’ sake, relax for a bit. Maybe you’re just stressed or something.”

“We hunt monsters, Sam. I think I’m entitled to a little stress.” The pain and the immobility are getting to him; his tone is irritable, his voice low.

There’s a significant pause. Dean lifts his head - slowly - to see Sam’s expression turn from concerned to smug. 

“Is that your only source of tension, Dean?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in a way that says he already knows the answer. He doesn’t wait for Dean to reply - just raps on the doorframe before turning and walking away, a smirk on his lips.

Dean drags a hand over his face. He knows what Sam’s talking about, but he can’t exactly kick Cas out, can he? If anything, that would stress Dean out more than having to spend day after day with the guy, pretending he doesn’t want to drag his hands all over Cas’s skin every time he steps within ten feet of Dean.

He’s dozing, exhausted and sore, by the time someone else knocks on the doorframe. Dean blinks into awareness, wincing when he has to lift his head.

“Cas.” _Great._ Dean drops his head back on his pillow and suppresses a groan. 

“May I come in?”

“Go for it.”

Cas steps in gingerly. He holds up a hot water bottle when he’s in Dean’s line of sight. “I thought the heat would help with your stiff muscles,” he says. “Will you flip onto your stomach?”

Dean winces. “Yeah, okay.” Cas’s hands skate over Dean’s arms, then his back, as Dean flips over. He shivers from the touch, but Cas misinterprets it. He jerks his hand back.

“I’m sorry; was that painful?”

Dean just grunts and turns his head away. 

“I’m going to put the bottle on your back now.” Dean feels his shirt being pulled up, then the heat, all along his lower back. It’s heavenly. He groans into the pillow as the heat permeates his muscles. It’s the first bit of real relief he’s had in days. Why didn’t he think of this before? 

His eyelids are fluttering closed when he feels something else: hands. Warm hands kneading his shoulders through his thin shirt. Dean can’t help it - he groans out loud again and throws out a curse.

Cas stops abruptly, pulling his hands away again. “I’m sorry, Dean - “

But Dean shakes his head, gritting his teeth and turning his face into the pillow. “No, no, Cas, fuck, don’t stop.”

He knows how needy he sounds, but it felt so damn good he’s past caring. All he wants is Cas’s hands on him _now._

Luckily, he doesn’t have long to wait. Cas, slowly, so slowly, places his hands on Dean’s shoulders and works his thumb into Dean’s shoulders. Dean cries out again, but Cas seems to know that this is good - he works harder at the knots.

In the back of his mind, Dean knows this is a bad idea. Cas touching him is always a bad idea because it reminds Dean of all the other shit he can’t have from Cas - like his mornings and his midnights and his lips and his tongue - 

But Cas’s hands are skimming down Dean’s sides now and Dean can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Can you take off your shirt?”

The request has Dean shivering again. He nods, and with Cas’s help he’s able to pull the shirt off. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Cas lick his lips. Dean takes deep breaths and squeezes his eyes shut.

Cas moves the hot water bottle to Dean’s upper back, then he’s taking his dry warm hands to the area right above the waistband of Dean’s jeans, pressing and stroking and growing bolder with every groan that Dean lets escape.

Eventually, the hot water bottle loses its warmth and Cas draws his hands away, taking the bottle with them. Dean sighs - disappointed but relaxed. “Thanks, Cas,” he breathes, directing a lazy smile up at his friend. “I feel better than I have in - hell, probably weeks.”

Cas inclines his head solemnly in acknowledgment. “I’m glad I could help.” He looks down at his lap, seeming to contemplate something, his throat bobbing, then back at Dean. His eyes are so blue. Slowly, with an audible intake of breath, he leans in, watching Dean’s face all the while. He presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s shoulder.

Dean feels like he’s swallowed his tongue. His skin is hot all over. He watches in silent shock as Cas clears his throat and leaves the room, his face pink. He can still feel the phantom pressure of Cas’s lips along the rise of his shoulder. 

_What the fuck just happened?_

 

The aches come back because of course they do. Dean can feel the tension in his muscles every time Cas approaches, and in the quiet of his room laughs bitterly at the irony that the guy who took the aches away with his hands is the man who causes it with his presence.

They haven’t talked about it, even though Cas’s gaze grows shy every time Dean looks at him for more than a second. Even though Dean has woken up more than once in the middle of the night thinking Cas was there, a warmth along his back, pressing kisses along his spine.

Three days after, Cas sits next to him in the war room. “I’m sorry my remedy didn’t help,” he says, his index finger running along the rim of his mug. He doesn’t look at Dean anymore than he can help it nowadays.

Dean tries to shrug. It hurts. “Don’t worry about it, man. It felt good when you did it. Anyway, like Sam said, it’s not gonna go away ‘til I figure out what’s causing it.”

“You still don’t know?”

Dean stares at the newspaper in his hand, even though the characters look wrong and jumbled at this point. What is he supposed to say? He does know what’s causing the pain. It’s the way Cas smells, the way he looks when he trudges out of his room in the morning, the way he drinks his coffee like water, the way he smiles at Sam and the way he pressed his palms all over Dean’s back three days ago and kissed his shoulder and left Dean aching in a completely different way than he began with. It’s the way Dean’s too much of a chickenshit to do something about it.

He doesn’t say any of that. “Nah.”

Cas makes a small sympathetic sound, and Dean downs his coffee so fast he scalds his tongue.

 

Sam stops by again a few days later. There’s no sympathy in his eyes this time as he leans against the door frame and watches Dean feel sorry for himself, sprawled across the bed. “Seriously, dude? We can’t get anything done with you laid up like this.”

“You act like I want to be bedridden,” Dean accuses, though he can’t look at Sam without his neck twinging. He settles for glaring at the ceiling. “Believe me, I would like to be able to take a piss without feeling like I was run over by a truck, alright? It ain’t happening.”

Sam scoffs. Dean wants to punch him. “Dean. Talk to him. Tell him.”

Dean could very well claim he has no idea what Sam is talking about. He’s had lots of practice at denial, after all - but he’s too tired. He closes his eyes. “Shut the door, man,” he just says.

He dozes for an hour, but it’s too hot then too cold and damn, he wishes he could sit up without taking twenty goddamn minutes to do it. Eventually, another knock comes and it’s softer, more tentative.

When Cas walks in, clutching the hot water bottle, Dean has to bite his tongue. “Hey,” he says.

“Good afternoon, Dean,” Cas says, hovering at the foot of the bed. “I wanted to - “ He pauses, then sighs. “I wanted to help, even if it would only be temporary.”

Dean takes one look at the sad twist of Cas’s lips and nods, taking a deep breath. “It helps, Cas. Just - you know. Knowing you want to help. That helps too.”

Cas’s smile is tentative. “I wish I could do more.”

Dean shakes his head, just a little. “Don’t blame yourself, Cas.”

Cas helps him onto his stomach, and they go again. Dean can’t help the broken sounds that fall from his lips with every pass of Cas’s hands. It’s worse this time, more painful - and better. It’s torture, and Dean can’t get enough.

Eventually, though, Cas’s hands stop in the center of Dean’s back. Dean regains his composure and swallows. “You’re, uh - you’re getting better.”

“Dean.” 

It’s the tone of Cas’s voice that makes Dean bear the pain to look over his shoulder.

“Cas? What’s up?”

“You’re in so much pain, Dean,” Cas says roughly, looking down at his hands, which curl into fists as he speaks. “I - I hate it. I hate seeing you like this.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Dude, don’t - “

Cas shakes his head. He draws his hands away. “I’ve been trying to figure out the cause of your tension. Sam refuses to give me a straight answer, but - “ Cas pauses, his eyebrows furrowing. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

Dean jerks his head so hard he feels something crack. “God, what?”

“Your back pain started only a little while after I settled here permanently, Dean. I - I can’t ignore that fact.”

It’s too warm. Dean tries to breathe normally, tries to come up with an explanation, but all he can say is, “Cas, bud, you gotta understand - ”

Cas releases a breath. It looks like there are tears in his eyes, but when Dean sits up slowly, painfully, whatever it was is gone. “I understand,” Cas says, though he can’t look Dean in the eye. “It must - it’s been you and Sam for so long; of course you would feel… cramped.”

And before Dean can even wrap his head around Cas’s words, the man is saying, “I have some bags packed. I can find a place in town, if that will help.”

“What?” Dean stares uncomprehendingly. “Cas, what are you - you’re not leaving, man.”

Cas shakes his head. He stands and offers Dean a rueful smile. “You’re in pain because of me, Dean. How can I let that go on?”

“Cas,” Dean says, almost babbling in his desperation, “That’s _my_ problem - I gotta deal with that shit. You’re not fucking leaving me.”

“I can’t stay where I’m not wanted, Dean,” Cas says, and this time there definitely are tears shining in his eyes. 

Dean fists the bedsheets. “Goddammit, Cas,” he breathes, “That’s not - that’s not the problem.”

But Cas is already closing his eyes, turning away. 

“Stop,” Dean begs, when Cas reaches the door. “Don’t leave. It’s - it’s not that you’re not wanted.” He swipes a palm over his eyes and hates himself for not saying it sooner. “It’s the - I do want you - too goddamn much - and that’s the problem.”

His outburst earns him a confused backwards glance. 

“Cas,” Dean repeats, slightly manic now that he’s started, “I want everything from you. I - I want you by my side, all the time. And yeah, you’ve been driving me nuts since you told heaven to fuck off, but - not because - _never_ because I want you to leave.”

He stands up with a wince, and Cas’s expression goes from guarded to abruptly panicked. He reaches for Dean and manages to get a hand to Dean’s elbow. “Sit back down, Dean,” he prompts, but Dean fits a hand to his waist and Cas goes still. 

“You wanted me to find a solution to this, Cas,” Dean says, trying to still the trembling in his limbs. “This is the solution. Me not being a chickenshit is the solution. Me getting my head out of my ass and trusting you instead of making you think you’re - that you’re not wanted. Fuck.”

“Dean.“

“You just have to be patient with me,” Dean continues, stepping in closer, watching Cas’s pupils dilate and feeling something like joy expand in his chest. “I’ll still be a dumbass sometimes, but - “ Here he takes a deep breath and tries to smile despite what lowkey terror is taking residence in his gut. “I want to try.”

Cas’s eyes are awed. He brings a hand to Dean’s jaw. “You want me to stay,” he says wondrously.

Dean nods, pretends he doesn’t have tears in his eyes. “In my room,” he supplies, “With me.”

“And you’ll stop holding back?” Cas asks, a touch of a frown on his lips.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ll try,” he says.

“I love you,” Cas says solemnly, eyebrows furrowed.

Dean buries his laugh into Cas’s neck. Later will find him whispering those words right back to Cas, against his skin, his mouth, his tongue - in their bed. For now, Dean revels in the warmth of Cas’s hands on his back. He feels lighter already.


End file.
